A/N: special thanks to Keyanna for proofreading this chapter. Thanks again!

"Cykes? What in the world is Cykes doing among the passengers?"

The Yatagarasu shrugs, taking note of the fact the Phantom sounds genuinely surprised. Not that it means much since he could fake any emotion he wants blindfolded and withan arm tied behind his back, but she likes to think she's harder to fool than most.

"Maybe she just felt like going for a nice cruise?" she suggests. "A funny coincidence, huh?"

The Phantom looks up from the passengers list to glare at her. "I don't believe in coincidences," he says, his voice tight.

"Hu-uh. Speaking of coincidences, I think I found Blackquill's fake name in the list. Turn the page," she adds. The Phantom does, and she's not at all surprised when he goes silent and still, eyes fixed on the name on the page.

Seymour Blaxton.

"Now that just can't be a coincidence, is it?" she asks, tilting her head to one side while carefully observing the Phantom's flat expression. No emotion at all shows, but she knows better. "He knows that name would mean something to no one else but you. Looks like he wants you to know he's on the ship, and where. The question is, why would he let you know as much? Why give away his presence?"

The Phantom stays silent for a few more moments before he finally puts down the list and speaks. "That's because he knows that I know he'll be on board."

That was pretty much the answer the Yatagarasu had expected. She expects the next one as well, but she decides to ask anyway. "And he knows because...?"

There is another moment of silence before the answer comes, predictable as expected. "Because I told him."

"... Ulysses Outis, precisely. A scan of his picture has already been sent out. I want you to search through all databases we have – by name and picture – and find out who in the blazes he is. Get working on it, pup!"

Blackquill and Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth exchange a glance as Lang ends the call. Edgeworth clears his throat. "You're certainly aware that the search by name is unlikely to yield results," he says. "It's a fake name if I ever heard one."

While he's always been far more interested in Japan's history and culture far more than he's been in ancient western mythology, Blackquill can tell he's right. Outis was the name Odysseus gave when asked his name by a giant creature set on slaying him and his companions – a name that literally means nobody. And Ulysses, of course, is nothing but the latinization of Odysseus' name.

Whoever this man is, he didn't truly bother to come up with a believable name to go by.

My name is Nobody. Nobody I am called by mother, father, and by all my comrades.

Lang gives a sigh that sounds half like a growl. "Then we should hope the face recognition search gives us something to work with," he says, and looks down at the picture again. He flips it to read the message behind it again. "So, hawk lawyer. You're positive that this is from your Phantom, right?"

"As you're certain that the message you found in your pocket is from your own phantom, yes. A curious thing, don't you think, how similar the messages are?" he asks, and sees Lang stiffen for a moment. But it can't have escaped him how both this message and the one this Shih-na seems to have slipped in his pocket have been written and delivered with the one purpose of warning them.

Be careful, idiot, the message to Lang read. They'll kill you if they have to.

Not quite as detailed and apologetic as the Phantom's message, perhaps, but it did get the point across.

"This might be a leap of logic," Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth speaks, adjusting his glasses with a thoughtful frown. "But it seems more and more believable that both Calisto – Shih-na, whichever – and the Phantom may be working together. Two spies, both masters of disguise, both broken out of prison, clearly involved in the same murky business. It cannot be a coincidence."

"... Could be," Lang concedes, looking down at the picture. "This one is a spy too, apparently. The mystery man who called you to give you information, if what's written here can be believed. I guess we should take all of this with a good fistful of salt. Lang Zi says: the juiciest bite meat can hide the sharpest shard of bone."

"Hmph. I'll be sure to pass this information down to Taka," Blackquill mutters before turning back to what, he feels, is the truly important point in the letter. "Still, if what LaR- the Phantom wrote is true, then we have entirely misunderstood what his role in this is. What their role in this is, assuming that he and your own demon truly are working together."

There is a low hum as Lang looks back down at the words written on the back of the photograph. "I see your point," he says slowly. "He's a spy as well; YggdraCorp hired him to find me. We have been assuming he and Shih-na were working for YggdraCorp. This presents the possibility they may be working against it," he scoffs and puts the picture back down. "This would surely make so much more sense if we had the slightest idea of what YggdraCorp is exactly up to."

"We'll know soon," Blackquill says. "That's why we'll be on board as well, after all – to find out. Be it from the investigation or the Phantom himself, we will have answers."

Lang snorts. "Yeah, he says he'll turn himself over to the police. Are we supposed to take that seriously?"

Blakquill bites harder on the feather in his mouth, brow furrowing in thought. The second part of the message is precisely what has kept him awake the previous night, wondering if that was the truth – that not everything had been an act, and that LaRoche would willingly turn himself over to him rather than escaping time and time again.

I hoped you'd be content in your ignorance and move on with your life.

I won't spend this life waiting for you to find me or die in the attempt.

Is it the truth? What would be the point in lying, in writing anything like that if he didn't mean it? If it was an attempt at softening him, at manipulating him, it's a clumsy attempt at best... and that's not how the Phantom works. It's not how Robert LaRoche works, either.

"To the police? I have my doubts," Blackquill finally speaks quietly. "To me, though... perhaps. Even if he won't, it will make no matter. I'll have him soon either way," he adds, looking straight at Agent Lang. "The only thing he may change by turning himself over willingly is whether or not I'll bother to listen to whatever excuse he may bleat."

But part of him already knows that no excuses will be uttered. The Phantom has said as much, hasn't he?

I won't give excuses for my escape. I have none.

Then again, he also claimed he'd stand on the gallows and die a man; a promise he failed to keep, for he ran away as he's been doing his whole life. If he truly meant that promise at any point, he lacked the courage to go through with it. Perhaps he meant what he wrote as well, but when the moment comes he may still try to get away, try to come up with pathetic excuses.

Blackquill is more than ready to take him down if he tried to escape once again, but he finds himself hoping that it won't be necessary, that the Phantom will truly turn himself over without trying to hide behind sad excuses. He still wishes to see a man standing before him, ready to pay for his crimes in full.

He doesn't know yet that he'll get so much more than he bargained for.

As a spy who's lived for the longest time with no personality of his own, the Phantom considers himself to be a highly adaptable individual. The Yatagarasu's laugh, however, is something he doesn't think he'll ever truly get used to.

"This is- hahahahah! This is hilarious! We're the worst spies ever – you know that, right?"

The Phantom isn't inclined to agree – they're both highly skilled and their successes outweigh their failures by far; they're among the very best – but he isn't inclined to argue, either. He can see her point, to be fair: with Blackquill and Lang both involved, both of them have the tendency to make decisions they would never even consider otherwise.

The fact they both wrote to the ones chasing them to warn them of danger makes that rather obvious.

"Since you took time to write Lang a note, I thought it fitting to leave one of my own," he says flatly. "Outis is obviously interested in him. Blackquill must look out for him."

She gives another chuckle, but doesn't burst outlaughing again. "Hah. Fair enough, I guess. And you even got him a pretty picture to go with the warning."

"There was hardly any point in warning him about a man he wouldn't recognize upon sight," the Phantom says. There was more to the message then that, so much more, but that's not something he can tell her. He doesn't know what her reaction may be if she knew of his intention to turn himself over to Blackquill, but he has the distinct feeling she wouldn't quietly step aside and let him. He can't have her against him now.

The government certainly wouldn't approve: he may cause them trouble if he tells who he's been working for and who aided his escape. He has no intention to – no point in doing so – but he's certain that they'd want to avoid all risks. There is no doubt in his mind that the moment he turns himself over he'll be as good as dead. If they could break him out of prison, they can kill him within its walls just as easily before he has a chance to speak.

But that's alright. It doesn't matter. There is only one person he needs to speak to, if only for one minute.

Part of him dreads the thought; he knows there is no defending what he did. There is nothing he can say to justify himself that isn't the pathetic excuse of a coward.

The catwalk broke. I couldn't know it would happen. It was an accident.

You ran away. You forgot me. I trusted you.

You were never supposed to know. You were supposed to be safe.

I was wrong to believe you a man. You ran away like the phantom youare.

The Phantom clenches his teeth for a moment, trying to chase away the memory of that hallucination from his mind. Blackquill will hate him, he must hate him, but at least he can hope he'll be able to prove him wrong and make up for his escape by turning himself over. Afterward, he can as well die in the knowledge Simon Blackquill will be safe. He will not, cannot run away. Not again.

Never again.

While he generally considers himself a people person – or at least the closest to a people person you can be when your identity has to remain unknown and you may have to kill the people around you if need be – Outis appreciates the fact the ship is empty.

Of course it's not really empty: a good number of people from the crew are on board, making sure everything is ready to leave in the morning. Some more people, most likely from the Interpol, have already been here to search the whole ship and left only hours ago. They were meant to be disguised as members of the crew, of course, but Outis wouldn't have lasted as long as he did in his line of work if he couldn't recognize an officer with one glance.

They found nothing, obviously, because there was nothing for them to find just yet. Of course, now that they're gone and he's had a chance to sneak on board undetected, that will change. Shame that no one will realize it until it will be too late to do anything about it.

He hopes he'll be able to settle his scores without having to resort to anything so unpleasant... but any good spy needs a backup plan. And a hostage situation, with thousands of lives depending on the flipof a switch, always makes for a good backup plan. Or for mass distraction, depending on which would serve him best.

Good for him that YggdraCorp graciously provided him with the means to set this up, albeit unknowingly.

Outis hums to himself and puts down the bag he's carrying – carefully, because he has no intention of opening any of those by accident, not yet – to pull something out of his pocket: the outline of the ship's air duct system. It was really gracious of YggdraCorp to tell him everything he needed to know about Erysichthon.

It can be drunk, injected, or breathed in as a gas. Either way, the toxin finds its way in the bloodstream.

Stealing their prototypes and using them like this makes him feel mildly guilty, true enough; he's never been anything but a professional, with a set of rules when it comes to work he's hired to do. But this... this is a special case, perhaps his very last, and he'll take no chances.

There is simply no way he'll let him escape his grasp again.

Never again.

"Favorite band?"

"The Gavinners. I was totally heartbroken when they broke up."

"Favorite song?"

"Guilty Love. It's not half bad, really. Want me to sing it?"

"No. Favorite dish?"

"Human meat."

"You're not amusing."

"And you're a bore," the Yatagarasu says, rolling her eyes and letting herself fall back on Harrison Fire's bed. It sure is comfier than Mary Goround's. How come the Phantom always gets all the nice things? "Look, this Yves Dropper is someone I'm making up. She's doesn't exist, she's new to the job, no one knows her. I can make everything I want up and no one will know better."

The Phantom doesn't take his eyes off whatever he's working on. Maybe it's another special watch, judging from the tools he's using. "That's no reason not to make her as real as possible. You must be consistent. Two different answers to the same innocuous question may be the end of you..."

"Pffft- hahahahaha!" she laughs, throwing her head back. "Aww, you care!"

"... And, by extension, the end of the mission," the Phantom says a bit more forcefully. "Neither of us wishes for that to happen, do we? There will be a deadly toxin on board. Along with people we'd rather not see dead."

The Yatagarasu sighs. "Sheesh. You never light up, do you? I'm certain we'll be fine," she says. She's aware of that, of course; does he really think she's such an amateur, to get caught so easily? It's not happening, no toxin will be released and Lang won't wind up pushing daisies before his time. That she has no doubt about.

"Nothing's certain except death. And, in our case, not even that. Here," the Phantom says flatly, throwing something – whatever he's been working on – in her direction. She sits up and catches it in mid-air. It's a round pendant attached to a small golden chain.

"... Huh. Is it too late to let you know there are no romantic feelings from my part?"

"I'll try to survive the heartbreak," the Phantom says flatly. "I figured someone might notice if this Yves Dropper just happened to have Mary Goround's same watch. It's a stretch, but there is no point in taking risks. That pendant has all the same functions the watch had. Except for the grappling hook, although seeing you hanging by the neck would be more entertaining than listening to your prattling is. The one in your ring should have to suffice should you be in the dire need of a grappling hook."

She laughs, slipping the pendant around her neck. "I'll be fine. The hook is your favorite toy, not mine. I'll stick with the tranquilizers, or the gun-cellphone thing. Did you know that my earrings are flash bombs? You throw them on the floor and whoever is looking gets blinded for a good minute."

"I'm aware of that. I was provided with some as well."

"... Earrings?" the Yatagarasu asks, a smirk curling her lips as she tries to picture the Phantom with earrings.

He scoffs softly as he puts his tools away, not looking at her. "Flash bombs. They're in my cufflinks."

"Oh, too bad. I hoped to see you with earrings," she says with a grin, reaching to poke at the earrings she's already wearing. "You know, I could have really used something like this back in the day. Too bad Alba didn't invest much in gadgets. Then again, he didn't even know how to turn on a computer. Old people, huh? He should have retired when he still could and spent his last days tending to flowers or something, but nope. At least he left with a bang. Literally. Firing squad," she adds, pretending to be aiming a gun at the ceiling. "Bang. Wonder what went through his mind when they opened fire."

"A bullet, most likely."

This time she laughs so hard that she can hardly breathe. "HAHAHAHA! That's- pwwwfft- hahaha! So there is some sense of humor there!"

"I was merely stating a fact," he drones.

"Hahaha! Don't be shy – you're funny! I'd miss you if you died – so don't get yourself killed on that ship, you hear?"

She expects another dry answer, and thus she's slightly surprised when, for a few moments, the Phantom says nothing. She frowns a little, but he speaks again before she can.

"... I have no plans on dying on that ship," he says, and finally stands from the desk. "You'll be expected to show at dawn along with the rest of the crew. You should sleep."

"Does that mean I get the bed?"

"Since you won't go back to Mary Goround's apartment, yes. The couch will do just as well. Unlike a certain someone, I'm not inclined to waste time arguing over a bed."

"Aw, and you were such fun until now," she complains, but her grin dies down the moment the Phantom turns to leave the room. There's something there, something he's not telling her, but she doubts the Phantom would say anything even if pressured. When she speaks again it's on a whim. "Hey, Robert."

Hearing his name causes him to stop in his tracks, but there is no outburst. Somehow, being called Robert bothers him far less than being called 'Robb'. She supposes that out of the two, the nickname is what he was most accustomed to be called by... and the one that holds most meaning. She's rather sure that Blackquill never called him anything other than 'LaRoche' even after his name was known.

"That's not my name anymore," the Phantom says quietly, not turning to look back at her.

She shrugs. "Well, no point in forgetting it, so I may as well use it from time to time. I won't make that a habit, I promise," she says, and pauses before speaking again. "Well, fair's fair. Wanna know what my name was? The first one I remember being given, anyway?"

The Phantom stays silent for a moment before turning to look back at her over his shoulder. He's still wearing Harrison Fire's mask – as he apparently does all the time – but that blank expression is unmistakable. She wonders, not for the first time, what it may hide. "... If you're inclined to share it," he finally says.

"Chrysalis," she says, and shrugs. "Since it was some cocoons to start it all, Alba must have thought it fitting. In a way, it is funny. A war, thousands dead and thousands orphaned because of cocoons."

They already talked about the absurdity of it all, she recalls, and they even shared a laugh over it – one of the very few she ever got out of him. Still, the Phantom doesn't laugh this time. He doesn't even smile; not that she expects him to be anything but serious. For people like them, willingly sharing your name – or the closest to a name of your own you have – is kind of a big deal. "Do you wish me to use it?" is all he asks.

"Nah. I like being the Yatagarasu well enough. But from time to time, why not. If I call you Robert first. How about that?"

He turns away. "I'll consider it," is all he says before turning and leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Blackquill isn't surprised to find Agent Lang barking orders when he enters the cabin the Interpol is using as their temporary base on the ship. It's large enough, but with all the equipment crammed in there and several men moving around it feels like a rather cramped space.

"All ladybugs are fully functional, shifu," a man is saying, pointing at what looks like a bunch of dots on a screen before Lang's eyes. "We'll hear every word that's breathed in there."

Lang nods. "Very well. I want you to take samples of everyone's voices in there and have a team working on vocal recognition right away. Female voices first," he says.

"Are you hoping to find your own phantom in there?" Blackquill asks. The notion doesn't surprise him, nor does Lang's answer.

"As you do," he says, tearing his gaze away from the screen before turning to look at him. "Speaking of which, hawk lawyer – are you trying to lure him to you?"

A smirk curls Blackquill's lips. "Am I now?"

"It looks to me like you are. I took the liberty of taking a closer look at the name you used to register on board. Seymour Blaxton. You want him to know precisely where to find you, don't you?"

He does, true enough. The name won't mean much to anyone but the Phantom; no one but him would know. "... Perhaps. Since he already knows I'll be on board, I see little point in hiding. I'll make things easier for him should he truly mean to turn himself over. I'm certain it won't interfere with your investigation."

Lang's eyes narrow. "What game are you playing at? Is this your psychological manipulation at work?"

Blackquill's smirk doesn't waver. "You have your means to find your demon, Lang-dono. Allow me to use my own to get mine out of whatever hole he's hiding."

"Mr. Fire! Will you join us for a drink?"

Outis' voice causes something in the Phantom's stomach to clench, but as he turns a perfectly polite smile is gracing Harrison Fire's face. "Why, gladly," he says. "But I need to empty my suitcase and refresh a bit."

The man shrugs. "Oh, that's fine! I was thinking of watching as the ship leaves the harbor, inan hour's time. There's a nice bar right on the upper deck. Will we see you there?"

Harrison smiles. "Do count me in," he says.

I'm going to kill you, the Phantom thinks. My last murder, if everything goes as it should.

There will be time to murder and create, Seymour's voice echoes somewhere in the back of his mind.

One more murder. The last.

Unaware of his thoughts, Outis smiles and gives him a pat on the shoulder. "Wonderful! See you there," is all he says before turning to leave.

The Phantom forces himself not to stare at him as he leaves – who is he? He'll have to tell me before he dies, I'll make him tell me – and simply walks inside Harrison Fire's cabin, closing the door behind himself.

It's a rather spacious cabin, but that matters not. The first thing he does is reaching for his watch, searching for any ladybugs that may be in it. There are none, apparently, but there is a message from the Yatagarasu; it was sent only minutes earlier. With the press of a button, he makes it appear on the display.

I have seen Cykes and Justice near the staff's quarters. They're here along with some kid who's going to star in a magic act. They're going to meet Blackquill – Justice didn't bother to speak quietly. I put a tracking chip on her. One of yours. You can track her down now. Also, I'm learning how to makethe best Mojito. If anyone from YggdraCorp asks for one tomorrow, they're going to be amazed.

Another press of a button, and there she is – not too far away from him, actually: only a few decks down. Too close for comfort, but at least she's not close enough to make him worry for her safety just yet. It's a good thing he can track her every movement: if she comes too close to danger, he'll know.

He won't, can't let any harm come to her. She's too important to Blackquill, and she believed in him – in the shell known as the Phantom – perhaps even more than Blackquill himself ever did. She certainly believed in Robert LaRoche... and he betrayed that trust.

Thank you. For... for giving me a name, for making me someone. Thank you for not giving up on me.

Is it too late to prove you were not wrong, Cykes? What will you think when you see me again?

The Phantom reaches to take off Harrison Fire's face, revealing the underneath. He walks to the bathroom to look in the mirror. There it is, the face they'll see, the one he was given when he left Robert LaRoche behind; only the eyes are the same. He supposes it may be described as good looking, more than his real one ever was... but it's another mask, nothing more, one made of flesh rather than latex. Not his face. Never his face.

Still, there is something on it – traces of the bullet scar on his forehead – that could not be erased. They may recognize that. They may recognize him, despite the different face. And his heart, the voice of his heart, will Cykes still be able to hear it?

"There will be time, there will be time / To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet..."

It's somewhat eerie, listening to those words coming from his own mouth rather than Seymour's, but at the same time it feels oddly comforting. It's his voice, his memories. He still has that much.

What face he's wearing matters little. After all, he won't have to wear that face for much longer. He can tolerate it for the limited time he's still given to live.

"Sacré bleu! I had never seen a ship this big before!"

"... Is that your way of saying we're lost?"

"Of course not!" Athena says, trying to sound as confident as possible. "I'm sure Simon is, uh... somewhere around here. Just at the end of some hallway."

"But there are only stairs this way," Apollo points out.

"... Oh."

Apollo sighs, stopping at the base of the stairs. "So we're lost."

"Maybe a bit," Athena admits, and sighs as she steps aside tonot be in the way of other passengers. They're in some kind of hall, with elevators and stairs on both sides; they're either on the wrong deck or on the wrong end of the ship. "Maybe we should have let Trucy come along. Bet she'd pull a map right out of her magic panties or something," she adds. Truth to be told, Trucy had wanted to come with them as soon as they had boarded; she had only given up because Apollo had been adamant and Pearl had reminded her they should practice her act so that they'd be sure it would go smoothly that evening.

"Trucy's not going anywhere she's not supposed to go. Not with that monster on board," Apollo says, his voice suddenly harsh, and Athena bites her lower lip, suddenly feeling guilty for suggesting that even as a joke. LaRoche murdered his best friend, so of course Apollo wants to keep Trucy from getting anywhere near him. Even if LaRoche has no reason to harm her, it's no wonder he wants to keep the person he thinks of as a little sister out of this.

"... Right. Sorry, I didn't-"

"You can be assured that no harm will come to Wright-dono's daughter," a well-known voice speaks up from behind them, causing Apollo to recoil. Looks like it was Simon to find them in the end.

"Oh. Hey, Simon," Athena greets him, trying to smile up at him despite the sadness she feels every time she looks at his face. The dark shadows under his eyes had almost entirely disappeared, but now they're starting to come back – a telltale sign that he hasn't been getting much sleep lately. "So, uh... any news?"

Simon's gaze darkens a bit. "Some, but not much. I'm afraid that, well-meaning as he may be, Agent Lang considers me little more than a guest. I suppose it makes sense from where he stands. This case belongs to the Interpol, and I wouldn't even have been allowed on board under normal circumstances. I suspect Lang may have pulled some strings," he says with an odd smile. "He has a phantom of his own to catch."

"But you know something, right?" Apollo presses on, frowning. "Is it something about the Phantom?"

Simon shakes his head. "No," he says. "All we know is about YggdraCorp. Still, we know that whatever business the Phantom has on this ship is related to that company's. It's a starting point."

"So what do you know so far?"

"They have reserved most of the two top decks for themselves and some other passengers. None of their names are known to the Interpol, but they may well be fake names. Most interesting of all, the Interpol found out they reserved the casino room in the upper deck tomorrow – starting at two in the afternoon," Simon says, and turns to Athena. "It didn't take much to realize that, around that time, the ship will be in international waters. At that point, it would be impossible for any kind of police to intervene without the captain's permission to even be on board."

"But... you bypassed that, didn't you?" Athena asks, and Simon nods.

"That we did. We have all the permissions we need to carry on searches and arrests both if given a good reason to, unbeknownst to the ship's captain. Or, at least, the Interpol does. Still, since there is no reason for us to believe YggdraCorp knows it, we believe the fact they reserved that room to use while in international waters may be very meaningful. It seems the only proper meeting place they reserved. If something's going to happen, it will happen there. And if the Phantom is involved, he'll be there," Simon adds, his voice colder... but suddenly Athena can feel discord in his heart, something that feels like pain and worry. It's utterly different from the anger his words convey. Still, she says nothing of it – not yet.

"But how are you going to get in there?" Apollo asks. "If they're on to something in there I don't think they'll keep the door open, and security will probably be tight."

"And the Interpol needs a good reason to act on," Athena mutters, toying with her earring in thought. "You can't burst in without knowing what's going on and with nothing but a hunch."

Simon smirks. "Very observant. The Interpol is working on it as we speak, I believe. Some of its undercover agents have already fitted that room with ladybugs. Everything that will be said in there, we'll hear. The moment anything compromising leaves their lips, they'll be cut them down without mercy."

"And you think the Phantom is working with them?"

Apollo's question causes Simon to pause. "That's what we assumed until very recently. However, I am now in possession of evidence that challenges that assumption. It may as well be that he's working against them," he says slowly, and reaches into his coat's pocket. He pulls out something – a photograph. He hands it to Athena, and Apollo scoots closer to see it as well. "I found this in my apartment; it was obviously slipped under the door. Take a good look at the man in this picture – no, Justice-dono. I don't believe that is the Phantom's disguise," he adds, and Apollo, who had just opened his mouth to speak, promptly shuts it. "There is a message written behind it."

Athena flips the photo, and there's the message – one written in a handwriting she recognizes immediately. She has only ever seen one person whose writing is so impersonal, as though out of a printer. Her eyes scan the message, and by the time she reaches the last few lines there is a dull ache in her chest. LaRoche wrote this to warn Simon about danger, and he's ready to turn himself over to give him closure, to protect him. She was right, then – she was right about LaRoche, she was right to believe it hadn't been all a lie.

I won't give excuses for my escape. I have none. None but this: I never thought you'd come to know the truth. I hoped you'd be content in your ignorance and move on with your life. I know that is no longer a possibility now that you know I still live.
I won't spend this life waiting for you to find me or die in the attempt. Once this matter is over with, I'll turn myself over to you.
Until then, be careful.

Athena lifts her eyes from the photograph to look up at Simon. He's looking back at her in silence, but no words are needed: his silence speaks volumes, and the clashing emotions in his heart are all too easy to hear.

"He may be lying," Apollo mutters beside her. There is some confusion but mostly anger coming from him, and Athena can't blame him for it. He lost his best friend to the Phantom – a friend who was murdered when he was just about to achieve his lifelong dream. It's not something you can simply forget about.

"He may be, yes," Blackquill says calmly, reaching to take back the photograph. "It would be far from his first lie. But it matters not – whether by his own volition or not, he'll be in my grasp before this is over. I simply want the two of you to look out for this man as well – and to let me know should you see him. A text message will do. Don't expose yourselves. If the Phantom thinks him dangerous, he likely is. Be careful."

Until then, be careful.

"You too," Athena says, resting a hand on Blackquill's arm. "Please. Be careful. And... if you find him-"

Simon's hand comes to rest on her own. "If he's indeed going to turns himself over, if he chooses not to fight, then I'll have no reason to harm him. I have no wish to. If he has anything to say for himself, I'll listen."

Athena smiles and squeezes his hand. "Thanks," she says. Simon only nods before letting go of her hand and turning back to Apollo.

"See if you notice anything, but do not go on the upper two decks. The Interpol and myself will be there, but we don't know what YggdraCorp is planning precisely. We know for certain that they brought some security on board, and they're likely armed," is all he says before turning to leave. It doesn't escape her how he's not mentioning the Phantom as a possible threat to their safety.

He knows he's not. Whether he realizes it or not, he knows.

There are several moment of silence as they watch him walk upstairs among other, unsuspecting passengers. Athena is the first one to speak.

"We're still going to check the upper decks out, aren't we?"

"Of course. We may find something relevant," Apollo says quietly. And the Phantom, Athena knows he's thinking. "Not now, though. Let the Interpol do their thing. We'll check them out tomorrow. One of the passengers up there may just be the Phantom. We could find him by just looking, and listening," he adds.

They have discussed it before – that their combined abilities may be enough for them to recognize the Phantom if he comes close enough – and Athena must admit it doesn't seem too far-fetched. There is a chance they may recognize him that way.

But Athena doesn't truly wish to find him like this. It would be best for everyone – for her, for Simon, for LaRoche himself – if LaRoche truly turned himself over on his own will. There is no telling what would happen next, but she's sure that to Simon it would mean so much more than he's willing to let on.

As they leave neither of them notices the tall, lanky man with barely graying black hair who's watched the whole encounter from the staircase on their left.